The Dark Muse Outtakes
by Alby Mangroves
Summary: Additional material and outtakes from The Dark Muse. AH, Angst, Suspense, Hurt/Comfort, Romance.
1. Chance

**A Fandoms Fight the Floods Contribution, and an outtake of The Dark Muse. It's possible that other outtakes might be posted here though I am not planning any at this time.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own Twilight, though any original storylines are mine.

**A/N:** A big Thank-You to **LightStarDusting** and **ms-ambrosia** for their Beta work on this outtake. Of course, the urge to tinker once these ladies are done is too great to resist. Any mistakes are undoubtedly mine. Thanks to the ladies at **FFtF** for the great effort they put in to compiling the efforts of so may authors from many fandoms in order to raise money for floods-afflicted Queensland. Cheers!

_**Warning:**_ _This story contains subject matter which may be offensive or upsetting for some readers. I will post a warning before each chapter if it contains those mature themes and advise you in advance. Themes explored in this story include prostitution, violence, sometimes graphic or unromantic sex, some drugs and self-harm triggers. Please PM me for more information, I'm happy to answer any questions. No rape._

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><p><em><strong>Warning: <strong>__**This chapter features prostitution and drug triggers**__**.**_

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><p>The diamond in Riley's signet ring sends glints of rainbow through Victoria's glass of water and across the pristine white tablecloth. She looks him over as he eats; he's dapper, handsome, holding his knife delicately and dissecting his steak with flair. The elegant deportment belies his filthy mouth, a most amusing contradiction.<p>

"For fuck's sake Victoria, is there a reason you keep him around?" he asks over a mouthful. "Shaking his hand is like..." Riley pauses with his fork in the air, as if to think of the right comparison. "...touching eels. And he doesn't let go! I have to, like, shake him off to disengage. Creepy old fuck. He's like a hand collector or something. I feel like if I don't shake him off he's going to try and chop it off and take it away with him for his amputated hand collection and maybe use it as a ball scratcher."

Despite his passionate words, Riley's face looks impassive following his tirade. Victoria snorts lightly.

"You're so melodramatic! He's just good to have around, that's all. Like you."

She smiles at him, one eyebrow cocked cheekily. Aro _is _good to have around. His knowledge of the industry is extensive, even if he is a fossil. If not for his mentoring, Victoria's little agency might never have taken off the way it did. She's grateful for the way he took her under his wing and helped introduce her to all the right people. People with money.

"Don't be comparing me to that old cunt! I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, so I can sleep at night." Riley puts down his cutlery with a clanging flourish. "Worst fucking cut of meat. Call themselves a restaurant. Fuck."

Victoria laughs in delight at Riley's outbursts. He's quite entertaining, and knows it. This disenchanted act he puts on is really very fun, and of course, expected of any self-respecting gay diva. She dabs her napkin over the corner of her perfectly arched lip and drops it on her plate to drape over her hardly-touched food. Pointing to his ring with her pinkie, she raises her eyebrow.

"Nice to see Cai is still rolling in it."

Riley straightens up in his seat and looks at her with disdain

"He hates it when you call him that _Vicky_. Don't be a bitch. I've had a long day and I'm not in the mood."

Victoria shakes her head, grinning.

"You've got it bad!"

Riley's eyes grow soft and indulgent. The change in expression makes him look young. Really young. It's moments like these that she can look past their longstanding and very platonic friendship and see his appeal to both sexes. He shrugs.

"Yeah... I let him buy me things. It makes him happy. It's a nice bauble, don't you think?" He presents his hand for inspection and wiggles his fingers to show off his new bling.

Victoria nods in agreement, her grin still in place. She tucks a loose orange curl back into place in her french roll.

"So how is it working out for you now that you've moved in? You look, dare I say, _happy_?"

Riley leans back in his chair, slouching dramatically.

"God, there are days I could rip off his balls and feed them to him. Maybe with those fava beans I bought last week."

"You have the patience of a saint," she says wryly.

"Oh, he's rich, and gorgeous... and he could suck a golf ball through a straw, but..." Riley waves his hand to signify indifference.

Victoria almost chokes on her own spit, laughing.

"But it's all a little like playing suburban househusband, is it?"

"Well..." Riley's face scrunches up, his mouth down-turned.

"Don't blow this one Biers, nobody does Sugar Daddy like that guy. If you quit him, you might have to find a real job, and I'm not sure the world's ready for that!" She's only half joking.

"Oh, lighten up!" he shout-whispers, his eyes huge, amused. "Well, I could always come work for you."

"And do what?" Victoria looks for a server and waves him over to take away what's left of their overpriced meals.

"Oh, I don't know..." he trails off, looking into the distance, "Bits and pieces. You know, stuff. Odd jobs."

He looks at her sideways to see if she's listening. Victoria's face is a picture of incredulity, her mouth a tight line to stifle her laughter.

"Odd jobs," she repeats.

"Sure, why not?"

"Maybe I could call you Random Task," she deadpans, cocking an eyebrow.*

"You're an grade-A bitch."

"Randy, for short."

"Fuck you. Excuse me while I go reacquaint myself with my only real friend." Riley stands and adjusts his crotch, giving it a little squeeze and thrust. She snorts under her breath.

Victoria watches Riley's retreating back as he makes his way across the crowded restaurant and to the restroom. She can't help but assess his body as he walks away. He's still hot, even though he's on the wrong side of thirty now, just like herself. The Botox helps, as does the carefully styled designer wardrobe and the easy lifestyle. Caius has been good for him and she's happy for her friend. Regardless of what he says to the contrary, Riley won't leave him. Their feelings are genuine. They love each other.

Turning back to the windows, Victoria stares absently through her own reflection at the bustle in the street. In the distance, heavy rumbling rolls through the evening sky with the nearing storm. The usual traffic weaves outside the windows, neon yellow and red lights streaking past her unfocused eyes.

Not far from a busy corner, a movement catches her eye through the drops that have begun spattering the street. When she looks for it, there is nothing there but the yawning maw of a narrow, dark alley between two buildings. The sidewalks are suddenly alive as people scatter, attempting to get out of the downpour. Abruptly, it's unrelenting Seattle rain again; fat, heavy drops that thwack against the bonnets of cars parked along the busy street.

Victoria turns to scan for Riley's reappearance, but he's still in the restroom. She returns her attention to the view from her window, and once again, her eyes are snagged on some movement in that alley. She doesn't turn away this time, watching for whatever it is that has attracted her attention. A few moments later she is rewarded with the answer. She spies someone in the darkness, the lone figure shifting uncertainly from one foot to the other, as though waiting, watching.

Victoria's mouth lifts in a one-sided grin. She knows a working girl when she sees one.

On second look though, something is not quite right with the picture. This particular area isn't one frequented by streetwalkers; it's too uptown. This hooker is on her own, too, and that's bad practice. Normally they stick together in small groups, looking out for each other. She's also not dressed the part, looking more like a vagrant than even the most conservative whore. Victoria stares, trying to unravel the contradiction.

The more she looks, the younger the woman appears, until she looks like a girl. There is not a shred of doubt in Victoria's mind that she's hooking, even though she's not having much success. She's in the wrong place for a start; cars won't slow down here, it's far too conspicuous. Even downtown, with the recent explosion of child prostitution in Seattle and the subsequent vice squad crackdowns, johns are more circumspect than to pick up a kid like her in the street. She's either dumb or new. Maybe both, with a dose of runaway thrown in, too. Pretty, tragic little girl.

One of many to be found on the streets.

Victoria's mouth lifts in a sad smile.

"Earth to ginger. What the fuck?"

Riley's fingers snap annoyingly close to her face and she recoils slightly, blinking at him, broken out of her reverie.

"Jesus, bitch, do you mind? Can't you just sit quietly without attracting attention?"

She looks around the restaurant, but thankfully, nobody has so much as batted an eyelid at Riley's boorishness. When her sharpened eyes eventually return to the mouth of the alley, the girl is gone.

_Perhaps the pretty little loner wasn't completely unsuccessful then,_ she thinks, but as she's about to turn away, a slight movement has her glued to the dark brick mouth again. Without moving, she touches Riley's wrist, the pads of her fingers resting lightly on the cuff of his expensive shirt while she scans the murky alley.

"Are you done?"

"Sure. Why?"

Victoria's focus doesn't leave the alley as she stands and reaches for her purse.

"Lets go."

Opportunities present themselves in unlikely places sometimes. She's determined to meet this gift horse, look in its mouth and make sure it has white, straight teeth.

-Ø-Ø-Ø-

Dusk hangs in the air like a suspended curtain, waiting to roll final credits on the light of day.

A grey car slows. Inside there's a guy with dark hair, craning his neck to get a look at her.

Heartbeat racing.

_Will this ever get easier?_

The grey car picks up speed again and drives on. Bella has been out here for over three hours and is starting to realize that this isn't going to work.

She thought it was just a case of standing still long enough before somebody stopped and picked her up. She'd chosen a nice area, hoping that it would attract nice men. Men who wouldn't hurt her, and maybe even be nice to her.

Instead, she's getting colder by the minute, and she's had no bites at all this entire time, except for a couple of rubbernecks and a stray mosquito. To top it all off, it's starting to rain. Bella looks up into the darkening evening sky, feeling the smallest she has felt for a long time. Nature remains unmoved by her plight, and as the rain begins to pelt down heavily over her head and shoulders, she retreats further into the alley behind her, defeated.

The back of her hand itches and aches where the IV needle used to be, perched out of her hand like an obscene steel splinter. She'd ripped it out in such a hurry that the resulting bruise is still there, still blue, days later. She bruises easily, always has. It's typical that superficial bruises are so easy to see, while the festering wounds inside remain invisible.

What she really hadn't expected was her mom's power to hurt her still, even after all these absent years. She's just going to have to make damn sure she never allows it to happen again.

She's not sure how the hospital people had found Renee. Bella herself thought that she had died years ago. She was shocked stupid when she'd overheard that Renee had been contacted about her presence at the hospital and about the OD. She didn't need to be told what happened next because soon afterward, she'd overheard them talking about foster homes again. It was obvious that Renee hadn't wanted anything to do with her and being a minor, she'd soon be back in the system.

_Over my dead body._

Stamping her feet against the cold, Bella leans her back into the hard brick wall of the alley and despairs. She has nowhere to go, nowhere to stay tonight. The last couple of nights she has slept on the train, if keeping one eye open all night could be called sleeping. The night before that, she managed to spend a few hours in a church, dozing through several masses before being discovered. Tonight is as uncertain as any night, but worse for the fact that she's already cold and wet, and running out of money, fast.

The rain has become a steady drizzle, a lulling hum all around her. Bella slides down the rough bricks, making herself small. Pulling the wet hood of her jacket over her head as far as it will go, she clutches the sodden fabric with white-knuckled hands, and wonders if she might be able to sleep right here, invisible in the black mouth of the alley, even if just for a little while. Tomorrow, she's going to try and clean herself up a little bit, maybe in the McDonalds bathroom, and try this again somewhere else, until it works. She knows she's not ugly. Maybe it's the shit weather tonight, maybe she should have waited until later, until night had truly fallen. Tired, she dozes huddled into the wall, legs drawn up tight against her body.

-Ø-Ø-Ø-

Footsteps.

Bella opens an eye and looks sideways to the street, where a silhouette has appeared at the entrance to the alley, preceded by the clicking of high heels. For a moment, she imagines that Renee has come to find her after all.

The notion quickly passes.

It occurs to her that she doesn't know her mother's last name. Is she still a Swan or did she remarry? Actually, did her parents divorce before Charlie died? She doesn't know that either. It should be embarrassing to know so little about her own beginnings, but Bella doesn't feel anything at all.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and tiny droplets sit atop the woman's hair like a shower of silver sparkles. A diffused light from a fire escape above is making her hair glow bright orange. She doesn't seem bothered by the rain at all.

She's wearing heels and a nice dress, and she definitely doesn't belong in this dingy alley. A man appears behind her and stands at the periphery, waiting. Bella rights herself slowly, warily, sliding back up the wall. Adrenalin is starting to burn through her nerves, as the dread of being trapped in this alley dawns on her. This could get ugly.

The woman stops several feet away and just stands there, waiting. Bella looks back at her defiantly, but inside, she's scared as hell. _What do they want?_ She feels the woman's appraising eyes all over her.

And that's when it occurs to her that they might be looking for someone like her. She continues to stare back, waiting, full of apprehension in case they're undercover police. The red-headed woman steps toward her slowly, her face bathed in the stygian shadows of the alley.

"How much?" she asks quietly, raising a hand and twirling her finger.

Obediently, Bella turns a full circle. "For both of you?" False bravado makes her voice quiver.

The redhead smiles, sparse light falling in crescents on the apples of her cheeks.

"Good answer." She pauses, as if considering. To Bella, the response just confirms that the guy at the mouth of the alley is with her.

"Are you legal?"

"Yeah." An inconsequential lie. This time next year it will be true.

"Do you use?"

Bella snorts under her breath. "What do you care?"

"I really don't." The redhead replies matter-of-factly, but continues to wait for the answer among the misting rain.

"No."

The answer is unequivocal, the sentiment absolute. Bella has seen the last of any kind of drug.

It's a bleak and ghoulish image that will stay with her forever, punctuated by the taste of vomit and the smell of her very own and very recent Lazarus trick. She rubs the back of her hand again, unknowingly.

Slyly as though sharing a dirty secret, almost silently, the redhead leans in slightly and whispers, "Whatever you're charging, I can get you more."

It's not the comment she was expecting and Bella is at a loss for how to answer. She's not sure she understands what the redhead is saying. _Give me the answer that will have me sleeping in a a dry bed tonight and buy me a goddamn hamburger! _

"Come and work for me," the redhead elaborates, and finally, Bella can see what's being offered to her. Very simply put, it's safety. A relationship of sorts. A reciprocal arrangement that will see her much safer than she could ever be on her own, on the street. Her sense of relief is almost palpable, like the texture of a warm coat slipping over her shoulders. The redhead can see the answer in her eyes before she speaks, almost certainly before she knows it herself.

"What's your name?"

Bella doesn't think, she just answers with the first thing that pops into her head.

"Marie."

If she can become someone else tonight, it's as good as a new start.

-Ø-Ø-Ø-

Victoria appraises the girl in the alley with the detachment of a trained eye. She doesn't look like a junkie. Her skin is nice and clear so she's not into meth and she's not scratching herself absently like the smackers do, nor is she jittery from speed, which are all good signs. Her eyes are beautiful, dark and hard but underneath that, they're haunted. Victoria knows better than to ask. This slight, tough girl would never answer, at least not with the truth. The fact that she's standing out here in the alley, in this rain, tells Victoria everything she needs to know.

The fact is, she's exceptionally pretty, and with care, she could be beautiful. Tall and slim, she's a little on the skinny side, but some people like that, so her dance-card could be easily filled, as long as it's not a sign that she's a crackhead. They could work on the speciality angle together, and as she watches the dark shadows of the alley slide across the girl's pale face, she imagines a disguise of some sort; perhaps an exotic veil, or a mask.

She's lying about her age, but can't be far off eighteen. Victoria isn't about to ask for her social security number so it's a moot point. She wants to get a better look at her to see if there's some potential there. She might be interesting here among the filth, but turn out to be nothing special in the light.

Riley stands guard at the mouth of the alley where she left him, but will recede into the distance as they near him, so as not to be threatening. He was a little incredulous at first when Victoria explained that she wanted to get a closer look at this girl, but soon shrugged his shoulders and allowed curiosity win, following her out of the restaurant and across the road into this alley.

"Buy you dinner?" she asks, correctly guessing at something that will get Marie to go with her for a chat.

Marie's dark eyes give nothing away as she walks out into the rain and onto the street, following Victoria's lead. Her old skin rests on the alley floor with her name, amongst the other blown-in debris.

Marie doesn't turn back.

-Ø-Ø-Ø-

**A/N:** *'Random Task' is a nod to Austin Powers, of course. Thanks for reading.


	2. Fragment

**A Fandom For Texas contribution, marking an end to the The Dark Muse. Thanks so much for reading!**

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><p>.<p>

The Triumph's sleek body glistens. Drops of rainwater collide into each other and turn to rivulets, sliding down either side of the tank as Edward rides home from the city.

They haven't had any snow yet, and he hopes that it's a sign of a mild winter. Last year they only got four inches which turned to sleet in no time at all, but still managed temperatures below 15 degrees for three days in a row, so it might be a vain hope.

For now, the rain has been steady these past few days, which is bad enough.

These conditions would normally see him inwardly complain and curse the ever-present Seattle winter drizzle, but today, he has barely noticed it.

His ass is numb and his back is a little tired from sitting in the studio all day, but his head is not the usual miasma of maudlin self-absorption.

Today is different.

Today, he rides home to Bella with a gift.

It's burning a hole in his chest like a big fat secret and he equally wants to and dreads giving it to her.

Kicking down with the toe of his boot, he drops gears and slows the motorcycle on approach to their street, trying to swallow his anxiety.

Nearing the warehouse, his heart begins to yammer in his chest like it's having some kind of aneurysm and he finally comes to a stop in front of the door within a door.

He braces the motorcycle with his feet on either side, the breeze suddenly jolting, suddenly everywhere.

Blood and phantom engine noise thunder in his ears as he removes his helmet and gloves and shakes out his flattened hair, hoping to make it a bit less Darth Vader. The drizzle comes in handy, moistening it a little, allowing it to be scruffed out of its mold.

It's stupid, but for a split second he thinks about delaying going inside. He's just going to have to hope that she won't be hurt again by the thing that he's bringing her.

Even though he doesn't really know what it is.

Retrieving his cell from his breast pocket he hunches over it, protecting it from the lazy drops beginning to thunk and splatter against his back as the drizzle turns to real rain.

He checks for an update to an earlier text, and finding none, fires off one of his own.

_To: Emmett: __Home now. Text when you get here._

He takes a deep breath and dismounts, cell in one hand and the zipper of his jacket in the other. Tugging it down, he leans toward the door, listening for any movement within. Hearing nothing, he enters quietly, not wanting to bluster in like a lumbering thug.

Inside, it's warm and nearly Christmas and home, and he realizes that _they live here_, the two of them. Jasper doesn't count, spending as much time with Mary Alice in Bellingham as he does. They haven't even seen him for two weeks.

Bella, though, she's here, and he's really coming home to her.

Wherever she lived, he'd be coming home to her.

In the back of his mind, he realizes that they have to move, and soon. There is nothing more understandable in the world than Bella not wanting to be here, of all places.

She doesn't like being left alone at all, though she's quite brave about it, in a stoic, smiling-but-not-with-the-eyes kind of way, which just spears him through, every time.

Edward can't blame her. He'd take her with him to the studio, if he could, tucked inside his lapel like a talisman where he could keep her safe.

He didn't anticipate it, but being this close to _that place_ is creeping him out, too, and he hasn't even once considered climbing the cedar that stretches its branches over the warehouse. He has come to view that tree as a guardian, the gateway between them, and the events that almost came to pass at Bella's old apartment, which is a presence they'd rather not feel.

The place is like a cancer, a black mass that they're both aware of. It becomes stronger, its tentacles thickening as time goes on. They've talked about it, and they both realize that to anyone else, it's just an apartment. But to Edward and Bella it's so much more than a place. The kind of energy that they feel emanating from it is the sort that hauntings are made of. It's indescribably menacing, even if nobody else senses it but them.

He wonders if the place has been let to another tenant yet.

That's all in the back of his mind as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, peeling off his wet jacket and throwing it over a coat stand. It slaps the wall behind it like a limp rag.

She hasn't noticed him, but she's all he can see, like there are big neon arrows hanging above her and things fall away until they're just things, not real problems at all.

He takes his time, just making sure his eyes are good and full of her before he moves any closer.

Sometimes he feels like such a creep, staring at her all the time, but really, there is the crease of her elbow and the tilt of her neck that says_ I like it when you fit yourself here_, and he loves looking at her. His eyes are drawn again and again to those beautiful places.

There are the fine bones of her fingers and her perfectly turned calves, and a lovely dip in her side that screams _poke here with your finger and make me giggle and flop around as gracefully as an untrained seal._

He wants to watch her cross and uncross her arms. Curl her toes and scratch her shoulder.

It's so stupid, but it makes sense to his insides.

Sitting at Edward's desk, she's concentrating on some sewing that lies spread out over the top, fabric sprawling off the edge in deep red swathes. Hunched over her new/old sewing machine and facing the wall, Bella's nimble fingers are picking at some fraying thread, and she's oblivious to Edward's presence.

He loves that she's so taken with this new hobby. Ever since Sparky showed them samples of her screenprinted textile designs, Bella has been busy with her thrift-shop machine, trying to make the fabric into little lap quilts and cushions. She has even attempted soft toys, as a lop-sided button-eyed stuffed cat attests to from their bed. She might still be learning how to wrangle the old machine and the fabric, but Edward loves her perseverance.

The little light that guides her work radiates from the undercarriage of the machine and bathes her face, making her look a part of some secret little world, just her and the cloth.

"Fucking... ugh," she says, and slaps her fist against the desk in consternation. Her head slumps forward a little, and that's when Edward notices the white cord of the iPhone she's plugged into. Now he can hear the rhythmic _untsk untsk untsk_ which explains why she hasn't realized he's home.

Edward grins, vaguely upset that she's upset, but grinning anyway because when he left just before six this morning, she was comatose. He'd been really torn between nudging her awake with some sweetly loaded kisses or letting her sleep off the late night she'd had, torturing the same project that she's swearing over still.

He had chosen to let her sleep, watching her eyelids twitch and listening to her tiny snores instead. He'd propped himself up on one elbow, tracing and smoothing the curve of her eyebrow as she nestled into her pillow, thankful that her nightmares were less frequent these days.

Now, conscious of not wanting to startle her, he looks at the cell in his hand, and though there's still nothing from Emmett, he hits speed dial one.

On the desk, Bella's phone lights up, an out-of-focus image of Edward's sleeping face flashing on the screen. He has no idea when she took it. It makes him the kind of happy that's sloppy around the edges.

Letting go of the fabric, she slides her finger across the screen.

"Hey!"

Edward watches as she bounces on her seat a little, one thick-socked foot rubbing up and down the back of her calf. The little space heaters are on, but she's still so slim and feels the cold more than he does.

"Hey," he answers quietly, disarmed by her reaction, unaware she's being observed. Then, he's stuck for words. He didn't think about how it would be to continue to have this weird conversation. Now he'd better come clean and tell her he's standing right there before she figures it out and lobs something heavy at him, or worse, is frightened out of her wits by his unexpected presence behind her.

Oblivious, she continues. "How did it go? Were they happy?"

"Yeah, they liked it. I've got some re-writes, then we record next week," he replies, not really concentrating on his own words, because Bella is stretching. Her arms are high up above her head, fingers woven together lopsidedly, wrists tucked into each other. The sleeves of her cardigan slide down and he can see the white skin of her forearms, which has no business making him want her, but it does. Any unguarded glimpse of her skin like this, does.

He fights an urge to just stutter up to her and touch her, knowing that it would probably scare the living daylights out of her.

Instead, he very quietly backs away to the doorway.

"I'm home."

"What? Where are you?"

"Turn around."

Bella does, dropping her arms and twisting so fast that one of the earphones pops out. She tries to get up but she's still attached and only barely manages to catch her phone in her hand before it can smash on the concrete.

Edward watches all this through a haze of excitement that mirrors hers, and _she's so cute when she's fumbling_ and _SHIT! She's going to kill her phone._

Finally, he just lurches toward her from the doorway, ending up in exactly the same place where he was just a few moments ago, before he backed off not wanting to scare her.

Bella discards the other earpiece, flips her saved phone to the desk and flies at him, smacking hard into his chest and clinging there, a little like a punky, scruffy barnacle.

Her hair is growing out, but she's been keeping it short, trimming it down to her shoulders where it falls in layers. Except today, because she's been tugging at it in despair all afternoon and it's standing up here and there in dark spikes. Despite that, it feels soft in his palm as he strokes it, gathering her up in his arms.

"I didn't think you'd be back until later," she mutters into his torso and her warm breath tickles him, even through the three winter layers, making his heart work hard.

"I left early. Everything was going so well, no major issues to hash out. They really liked it!"

Pending some small edits, Edward's composition will be expanded to feature on a film soundtrack, and even though he's dreamed of this moment, he's too anxious to really enjoy it right now.

He hunkers down a little, wanting to keep his hold on her but kiss her face at the same time. Loving the sensation of laying his lips on her soft, downy skin, he nuzzles his way to her ear, knowing that he's tickling her with his scruff.

Bella giggles as he lifts her off the ground in a bear hug and holds her tightly to his chest. He awkwardly walks them both over to the bed with her feet dangling limply around his shins.

At the edge of the bed, he allows her to slip from his grasp, and she goes with it, falling to the bed like a dead weight.

Her legs dangle from the edge of the bed and Edward lowers himself to the floor between her knees. Feeling overwhelmed, he lowers his face to her jean-clad thigh and rubs his face over it.

"Hello," he murmurs huskily, stroking her with his cheek, like a cat.

"Hello," she replies, lying back on one elbow and weaving her fingers into Edward's hair. He nuzzles his way up her legs, kissing over the seam of her jeans at the inner of her thigh, and Bella's grip on his hair tightens.

Edward's hand closes over her hip and he works the tip of his fingers under her waistband, just to touch her skin. _Warm_ and _soft_ and _home_, he thinks, as he nestles in the cradle of her belly right between her hipbones with fingers snagged at her waist like she's an anchor that makes him real.

Above him, Bella sighs, content.

He scratches rough hands over her pale skin and shimmies up a little until his auburn head nestles below her ribs and almost under her clothes, tucking himself up inside her soft, woolen cardigan.

"I wanna live here," he mumbles.

Bella tightens the edges of the cardigan around them both. "You do."

When she begins to stroke his hair, he wishes he could doze off, just like this. Sighing, he stills his hands and listens to the rain beating the building outside while the heaters hum a comforting warmth into the air around them. Beneath him, the steady rhythm of Bella's heartbeat lulls him, and he coasts gently to her beat.

"I did something," he confesses to her belly button. Bella doesn't answer, and her hand continues playing with the hair at his nape as though he didn't just light the wick of a bomb.

"I was thinking the other day... I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe this is a really stupid thing to do and I'm really nervous now because you might hate-"

"Edward."

Her innocent-looking hand yanks his hair painfully. "Just tell me."

"I found an old friend of your Dad's."

Silence.

"I wanted to get you something for Christmas. I started thinking and wondering if there was anyone that might have some pictures or something, you know? Like a friend of the family or whatever, from when you were little."

Bella's hand is deceptively still in his hair and Edward starts to panic. He can feel the stiffness of her fingers and the tautness of her stomach and he's interpreting it as anger at what he has done.

It occurs to him that he's forcing her to access her past, and memories she might not be ready for. Bubbling up inside him, the panic takes verbal form, and he blurts it all out into her skin, mouth half-pressed against her belly in a plea for understanding.

"I called the Forks Police Station. The Chief there is this guy named Seth Clearwater and when I asked if anyone remembered Chief Swan, this guy told me that his Dad would, 'cos they were thick as thieves back in the day. After that, it just kind of ran away by itself."

Bella's fingers slip away from Edward's hair. She clutches a cushion and pulls it over her face.

"Tell me everything," she mumbles into the padding, her soft, warm stomach becoming rock-hard and tense under his face.

Edward sighs and lifts himself to lie beside her, tucking down her cardigan to keep out the chill in the air. Hopeful, he keeps his hand on her hip, not wanting to let go altogether.

"The old guy's name is Harry. Seth got him to call me. I talked to him yesterday morning and he sounds a bit frail. Seth said he's had some heart problems lately, but he sure remembers your dad."

Bella lifts the corner of the cushion and looks him over with guarded eyes. Encouraged, Edward takes one of her hands and weaves their fingers together, laying them under his cheek.

"He remembers you, too."

Outside, the rain begins to fall in earnest, a sheet of water pounding against the tin roof of the warehouse. It feels like they're safe in here- insulated in their concrete and metal cocoon. Bella's wary eyes soften and let Edward in.

"He said he always thought you'd be really smart. He said he and your Dad used to talk about raising girls like it was a special kind of hell, but fondly, you know? Apparently, when he died, most of the town turned out for the funeral."

Edward hasn't really thought this far ahead and this conversation is taking a turn he's not quite ready for. When he called the station, he wasn't sure of any kind of resolution, and now the situation has actually yielded results which he hadn't bargained for.

He looks toward his phone, but there is still nothing from Emmett.

"Are you waiting for a call?"

"Yeah. Emmett's not far away. I'm expecting him to text when he gets here."

"Oh."

Edward knows that she must have a million questions, but she's trying to keep calm. He rushes through the rest of the explanation, his panic beginning to break over his head. He scrubs his face and plunges in.

"OK. So when I was talking to Harry yesterday, he said he had something of your Dad's. He had to wait for his wife to get home to get it because it was in the attic, but then he called again a couple of hours later to say he just couldn't wait, you know? He was so excited that you might be interested in that stuff, and that I'd found him. He climbed up there himself with his walking stick and all because he just had to make sure it was still there, after so many years."

Bella's voice sounds fragile. "What is it?"

Edward sighs. "That's just it... I don't know. He didn't really know, either. Said he couldn't remember from the time he took it to now, and he didn't want to open it, because it's not his."

"He took it?"

"Yeah. When Charlie's house went up for sale, he and a couple of Charlie's friends used his spare key and went in there one night, searched through all the cupboards for stuff left over that the movers hadn't taken out."

Edward lifts himself up on one elbow beside her, looking down intently, the green over brown.

"Everything was being sold off and he knew you wouldn't get any of it because it was to pay off Charlie's mortgage on the house and any other debts he had. Apparently there were a few."

Shuddering inside, Bella wonders if Renee had anything to do with accumulating those debts.

"So he literally broke into the house and just grabbed a few things that he didn't think would be missed, and they've been up on his attic ever since, just gathering dust. It made his day that you were around, all grown up now and that you might want it- he said he thought he'd die before being able to pass it on to you."

Bella closes her eyes really tightly, hoping not to cry, asking questions to keep focused, "So... how is your brother involved in this?"

"I couldn't go to La Push to pick this stuff up, so I called Emmett and he said he'd be happy to do it. He was at his place in Port Angeles, so not far at all."

"That's... really? Wow! He would do that?"

"Actually, he's already done it. He met with Harry Clearwater this morning and picked up the box. That's why he's on his way here now."

And suddenly, it all hits home and becomes very, very real.

Bella sits up, feeling like she needs to give her heart the room to thump around her ribcage properly- it suddenly feels too constricting to lie back.

"I'm so sorry to spring this on you, it just took off so fast... I didn't really think I'd find anyone, and then when I did, and he was so excited... I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot-"

"No, it's not that! I'm just-" Bella shakes her hands around, trying to string together words that explain the emotions colliding in her chest.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry! It was a stupid idea."

Bella is silent, listening to the rain taking over the world outside. Edward watches the shimmering window reflected in her eyes and gathers her up in his arms. She's limp, compliant, but he senses her fear though it's not the suddenly-jolting kind.

This is the kind of fear that paralyses and numbs and won't let you act. Whispering reassurances, he holds her close and lowers her back down to the bed.

They lie within the shelter of each others' arms, nudging each other with tiny prompts, _OK_ and _I'm sorry_ and _I know_, until Edward's phone pings again, and they both know what _that_ means.

* * *

><p>Emmett isn't really what Bella expected, though until today, she didn't really have the need to expect anything at all. There was no opportunity to meet him. There was a vague idea of him in the very back of her mind, but here he is now, large as life and not much like Edward, except that she can see shades of Esme and Carlisle in both of them.<p>

He's slightly taller than Edward, and darker, too, though she has a feeling that on the inside it's the opposite- that he's not the sometimes conflicted person his younger brother is. Fit and strong, he's quite imposing, and if he wasn't wearing glasses and beaming at her with an affable smile, he might have come across as menacing, purely because of his size.

Bella should be personable and friendly when he shakes her hand, but all she can see is the big carton that he just set down on the concrete floor, smaller than the sum of a life has any right to be.

That's Charlie in there, even if it's just the contents of his bottom drawer. The useless one where everyone throws crap that's too good to throw out but meaningless enough to forget for ten years.

Somewhere on the outside, Bella is making an effort at pleasantries, "...to finally meet you," and "...only good things."

On the inside there's a roar of silence, a heavy box-shaped void, and the memory of two tall pines acid-etched around her father's name.

Then the outside is silent, too, as the three of them stand awkwardly, not looking at the box. Just as Bella thinks that the air is too thick to suck into her lungs, Emmett speaks.

"You know, I passed this place on the corner, and I could really use a cup of coffee. Why don't I go on ahead?"

Edward nods, grateful for his brother's suggestion.

Emmett claps him on the back and gives Bella a sympathetic smile on his way out.

The door closing behind him is like the clang of heavy metal gates.

Outside, the rain continues to fall like the world didn't just cave into a brown, water-splattered, dusty box.

Edward whispers her name and rubs her back, but she's numb. Brushing his lips over her temple, he says "...you don't have to," and "...tomorrow," but Bella's not even listening. The only thing she can hear is the call of her past.

"I need to be alone," she finally says in a voice that doesn't belong to her, and immediately feels the guilt of dismissing him. Though she swallows hard to rid herself of the lump in her throat, it seems to be growing- a swelling black mass of nerves and uncertainty.

As he turns to go, Edward thoughtfully sets the carton on the bed, as dusty and old as it is, and the gesture leaves her on the brink of tears.

"I won't be far."

The door has hardly closed behind him when Bella nears the parcel as carefully as if it were poisonous.

Browned and scuffed with the years that weigh it down, it feels bigger than it actually is.

The edges are tucked in under one another and old packing tape holds it all together, though it has long since lost its adhesive and has begun to peel away from the dusty box. Faded stripes mark where it once stuck to the cardboard.

Darkened areas of water damage mark the sides in soft clouds, and she wonders if the contents are beyond redemption, just as she once thought herself to be.

Tentatively, Bella pinches a piece of the tape between her thumb and forefinger, and begins to pull.

Concentrating on the task of getting all the tape off takes a satisfying amount of time, but all too soon, there isn't any left- it lies in brown strips on the concrete floor beside her. Kicking the bundle aside, she carefully opens the flaps, puffs of dust rising like A-Bomb mushrooms in protest. Disturbed by the breeze, wispy grey spider remains flutter in the corner like loose threads.

What's inside is hardly explosive.

Once the wings are opened she expects the smell of mildew, but there is none. The damage appears superficial.

At first, she takes in the jumble of objects as a faded whole. Then, with the tiny things first, the contents of the box begin to make sense.

Novelty pens.

There are a couple of novelty pens in the box.

With an incredulous grin, Bella lifts one to her face, turns it upside down and watches a pretty sailor girl's navy dress disappear before her eyes.

With a big grin, she flips it up and down a couple more times marveling at the cute striptease, then sets it aside on the bed.

A pair of aviator sunglasses, with one lens scuffed where the handle touches it, makes her pause. She tries to impose them over the image of her dad that lives in her mind, and it doesn't matter if they were there to start with, they will always sit on Charlie's nose now like a cool barrier between him and the filth.

There are items with seemingly no significance, whose only claim to fame seems to be their presence inside the Box of Charlie, as she has begun calling it in her head. She takes out a door handle, a couple of batteries, coins and elastic bands and a fishing lure, shaking her head at the vision of someone filling this box by overturning a drawer.

A Port Angeles keyring, still in the packaging, looks like a gift and she wonders if it was Charlie giving, or receiving it.

Other bits and pieces, the detritus of Charlie's life, look like so much rubbish when she sees them spread out on the bed, but she's beginning to get a picture of a man who was once her whole world. She can't see that picture yet, but she senses it, and that's something.

Unearthed with the removal of smaller stuff, other, bigger items at the bottom come to light: an old cigar box, a cookie tin, a thick wad of paper in a Swains General Store plastic bag. Bella doesn't quite know what to look at next, and briefly touches everything with hesitant fingers before finally climbing onto the bed with her loot, feeling like a beach comber.

She takes her time, thinking that she doesn't want to run out of these treasures.

She wants to open this time capsule forever.

In the cigar box she finds coins, including some pounds sterling. Did Charlie travel overseas? Bella is suddenly overcome with sadness that she might never know.

The cookie tin yields the biggest treasure yet, and Bella's fingers shake as she touches it for the first time. She reaches in and removes a packets of letters, the paper yellowed and brittle, rustling in her hand. Addressed to _Mr and Mrs C. Swan_, the backs reveal them to come from _Mrs M. E. Swan_.

Grandma Marie.

Bella's gasp skips throughout the warehouse like a stone on still water.

She fans them out gently in disbelief and something slips out from in between. Astonished, she holds up the folded sheet of red tissue paper, edges stuck together with tape. When she peels back a side to peek inside, she finds a child's bead bracelet, bright and colorful even in this low light.

Bella pictures herself wearing it, the weight and texture so pleasant on her wrist, perhaps at Christmas, or on her birthday. She imagines feeling like such a special girl, Daddy's girl and Grandma's darling. Her mouth stretches in a grimace that's half pleasure and half pain at this bittersweet memory that's not quite a memory but more like a dandelion wish blown away into the world.

Clutching the bracelet, she looks again at the letters, wondering what other surprises they might hold.

A smooth corner of color stands out from the textured cream paper and she slides it out gently, awe painted on her face.

Her owl eyes see something she doesn't remember, and yet here it is, plain as day, printed in vivid color.

She sees herself as a tiny girl, sitting on a picnic blanket opposite Grandma Marie, who died when Bella was about five. They're sharing some 'tea', which is probably cordial, and eating cookies daintily from a plate, like ladies.

In the corner stands Charles Swan in uniform, hands on his hips, observing the proceedings with mild amusement.

Even though she can hardly see through the watery cloud of tears, Bella's smile could light up the block.

He _does_ have a moustache.

Turning the photo over, she reads her grandmother's words: _Thank you all for such a wonderful weekend, even the weather behaved itself! M.S._

Bella's laugh bubbles out of her like fizz from a shaken-up bottle of pop, bursting out of her mouth and covering everything with a bittersweet tang. She wipes her eyes and looks down at the bundle still in her hand like it has just miraculously turned to gold.

Every single one, and there must be dozens of these letters, is addressed in Grandma Marie's neat, italic script, the dates ranging over several years before and after Bella's birth. Bella draws a painful breath and aches to immerse herself in them, to read and to live in them and in the years they were written, but not yet.

Not yet.

She carefully replaces the letters into the tin to savor later, when her time is her own, thrilling at discovering the words set down so long ago.

Only one more thing is left at the bottom of the carton, and Bella lifts the Swains bag in two hands. She peels open the carefully folded edges, corners tucked neatly over each other to keep safe something of importance.

Inside, she finds an edition of the Peninsula Daily News, laid meticulously flat.

It looks unremarkable, and Bella is perplexed by its presence and careful treatment.

She leafs through it, lifting page by thin page, not finding anything of specific note, except the expected mix of news and classifieds.

Until she happens to look at the date.

September thirteenth, 1987.

The date of her birth.

As her tears finally fall, she can hear the_ I love you _from her past, spelled out in the things left behind.

Having carefully placed everything back into the box, Bella splashes water on her face in the bathroom and washes the dust from her hands. Her head is bursting with colors, imagining herself sitting down with Grandma Marie's words, each one a small stone in the foundations of her life.

With no time to waste, she makes for the door and stops short when Edward's phone begins to ring just beyond it.

She smiles at the muffled "Shit!" as he scrambles to silence it.

Opening the door, she finds him just beyond, trying to fit his whole body under the tiny eaves to keep out of the rain. It's obvious he's been here, waiting, all along. She grabs his arm and pulls him inside, and he just stands there, looking very contrite and resolute at the same time. Edward is the first to break the silence.

"I can't just sit at Blondie's and pretend like everything's fine. I won't. Don't ask me to."

Bella thought she was done crying, but here he is, becoming more precious to her day by day. A thought flashes through her mind- her father would have liked Edward, she's sure of it. He would have approved of him in her life.

Perhaps, he would have approved of her, too.

She holds her arms out to Edward as her body starts to fold in on itself, and before she can collect enough air to say his name, she's in his arms and against his chest.

"Are you alright?" Edward mumbles, scared that he's uncovered something awful through his well-meant prying into things long laid to rest. "What did you find?"

"Nothing. Everything." she hiccups through her nonsensical explanation, printing it on his shirt with wet salt. There will be time later to show him a glimpse into her father's life and to process her own feelings about the discoveries in the watermarked, dusty box.

He murmurs apologies and words of love into her hair, and within the hard sanctuary of his arms, Bella believes every word, deep in her heart. Edward's hands become firmer over her back, fingers splayed over her shoulder blades in a way that says_ I hold you to me with everything I have_, and she sighs into his chest, tears subsiding.

"Can I meet Harry?"

"I think he hopes you'd want to."

She nods against him, and they stand there awhile in a silent dance, until Bella's hands seem to whisper and glide of their own accord, finding themselves at the small of Edward's warm back, beneath his clothes. She absently traces the waistband of his jeans, lithe fingers tickling, caressing, igniting.

She senses the shift of his attention as the kisses he lays against her hair become slower and firmer, the way they sometimes do when he seeks her out in the still dark of pre-dawn. Just like those moments, time slows until they both become absorbed in the entity that is the two of them in a cocoon, in the safe harbor of their bed, outside of the concerns of the world.

With the grey afternoon reflecting in her eyes, Bella sends her fingers to furrow through Edward's hair, and gives her mouth to his, smearing cool rain drops as they collide.

Within moments, as always seems to happen, they're both breathing heavily, lips raw from kissing, hands beginning to roam and find the closures that hold their clothing together. Amongst the sounds of a zipper and Edward walking them backwards to the bed, Bella sobers first.

"Can we do this? Will Emmett wait?"

Edward stops and sighs into her neck, retrieving his phone.

"Hey, man." He takes Bella's hand and weaves their fingers together at the small of her back while speaking to his brother.

"Yeah, fine, fine. Just need a few more minutes. Really? Yeah, well, be careful there. No problem. We'll see you in a bit."

Bella quirks her eyebrow, "Well? What did he say?"

"He said he found something, and apparently it's_ fine_," he imitates Emmett's voice with a raised eyebrow at the emphasis.

Bella giggles, wondering how long Emmett can get away with checking out Rosalie's assets before he gets caught and frozen on the spot by the look she has reserved for just such occasions.

In the end, giggles turn to sighs, as everything other than their love falls away, ceasing to exist.

There is only their cocoon: two of them, and the sheets made dusty by the box and the rain outside, laying down the beat of life that they can follow.

And they do.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked the snippet of their future. I see them growing old together, just the two of them with a houseful of cats, eating good cheese and never short of wine. In short, I wish them everything I've ever seen in the movies. Love you guys, thanks for reading my story!


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